


six: weak

by uselessphillie



Series: home (wherever i'm with you) [6]
Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: M/M, Sickfic, phil just wants a cuddle leave him alone :(
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-05-26 12:26:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15000860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uselessphillie/pseuds/uselessphillie
Summary: phil comes down with a cold between the european and american tours.





	six: weak

**Author's Note:**

> when will i start working on my wips instead of writing random soft oneshots,,,,,,,

The world is a bit foggy when Phil wakes up.

On the plus side, it’s waking up in his own bed under blankets that smell like home and with a familiar pattern of sunlight peeking through the curtains.

But he reaches a hand out blindly across the sheets and connects with nothing. No warm skin, no fluffy curls, not even a pillow he could curl up against for another ten minutes. Phil lets out a rather displeased noise, and is wholly unsurprised to find that the sound scratches and grates against his throat. He pushes up slightly onto an elbow, but the sudden rush of blood makes his head pound. 

Fuck. 

He’d actually protested a bit when they were still working out the tour schedule, wary of having a full week off between the European and American dates. Everyone had been so adamant that  _ you’ll need rest, Phil _ , but he knows himself, knew that the second he was removed from the steady flow of adrenaline and working and  _ doing things _ that it’d all go downhill.

That he’d get sick.

Phil allows himself a moment to be frustrated at himself for not fighting harder, then lets that thought go in favor of wallowing about how truly terrible he feels. HIs mouth is dry, his throat tight and irritated. All at once, the blanket is too much and he kicks it off, starfishing out across the bed to maximize the flow of cool air on his skin. Not thirty seconds later and he’s freezing, reaching out for a warm body again. 

Oh. Right.

Phil curls up on his side, pushing down the wave of stupid tears that wells up at Dan having already gotten out of bed. He 31, he’s more than capable of taking care of himself when he’s sick. 

But that doesn’t mean he wants to. 

He muddles through the fog in his brain to listen more closely to the sounds of their flat. He hears the shower running in their ensuite, Dan’s singing only slightly muffled by the steady beating of the water. Phil can’t quite place the song, some new pop queen that’s he’s heard over and over again during their long car rides. He closes his eyes again, trying to muster up enough energy to haul himself out of bed. A shower sounds nice. 

Dan starts a new song, shifts out of his falsetto and into something deeper and more melodic. Phil sits up, waits until he can’t hear his blood rushing in his ears anymore before forcing his aching body into standing. He discards his pants as he makes his way into the steam of the ensuite, pokes Dan in the side so he’ll make room for Phil under the stream of water.

Dan switches to humming as Phil closes the shower door behind himself, wrapping his arms loosely around Dan’s waist and tucking his face into his shoulder. Dan tilts them into the water, wetting Phil’s hair and combing his fingers through it. 

Dan is talking, something about filming for the gaming channel today but Phil isn’t really listening. He’s focused on the gentle pressure of Dan’s hand in his hair, fighting a wave of dizziness and tightening his grip on Dan’s waist to get him to stop swaying. 

“Don’t feel good,” he tells Dan’s shoulder. 

“What?” Dan pulls back to look at him properly. 

Phil immediately rejects the motion, stepping back into Dan’s space. “Hurts, Dan,” he rasps out. 

Dan makes a sympathetic noise, letting Phil lean his weight more heavily against him. So Phil wants his boyfriend to take care of him when he’s sick. Sue him.

Dan lays his lips against Phil’s temple, as though he could gauge whether or not Phil has a temperature from that action alone. Maybe he can, Phil can’t be bothered to think too much about it. He lets Dan wash his hair and wrap their big, fluffy towels around him. By the time Dan deposits him gently back into bed, he’s pretty sure he’s used up his entire energy reservoir for the day.  

“C’mere,” Phil says weakly, wanting nothing more than to be cuddled to death. 

“Gonna get you some medicine and something to eat first, okay? Don’t fall asleep yet,” Dan says. Phil sticks his bottom lip out in what is probably a ridiculous looking pout. He’s pretty sure Dan rolls his eyes at that, it’s hard to tell without his glasses.

Phil can’t decide if an eternity or a second passes before Dan comes back. “Sit up, babe,” Dan says, and it takes every shred of willpower Phil has to comply. Dan presses a warm mug and two pills into his hands, with a “take these and don’t complain about it” look on his face. 

It’s honeyed tea where he’d expected coffee. “That was mean,” Phil whispers, scrunching up his nose. He drains half the mug anyway and lets Dan force a piece of toast on him as well. After what actually does feel like an eternity, he’s allowed to lay back down and is rewarded for his efforts by Dan curling up behind him. Finally.

“I told you I’d get sick,” Phil says. He won’t admit it, but the tea has soothed his throat a bit. 

“Shhhh,” Dan chides. “I’d hate to have to cancel the entirety of the American tour because you’ve got a cold.”

“Are you trying to shut me up by threatening to take away my pancake fantasies? Rude.” That was certainly too many words, each syllable is raspier than the last.

“Yes. Now go to sleep or I’ll take away your cuddling privileges as well.” 

“You wouldn’t dare.” He’s already halfway gone, the heavy weight of the medicine settling into his bloodstream. He thinks Dan might say something else but he can’t hear it, there’s only solid warmth behind him and the vast expanse of sleep in front of him. 

He has to go forward into it. Anything for the pancakes.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: moon-boye


End file.
